


The Time of a Soul [BOOK 1]

by YukitoSan



Series: The Blackwood Curse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1800s, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Bisexual Male Character, Blood Pacts, Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, Denial of Feelings, Drunk Sex, Family Drama, Feelings Realization, First Time, Gay Male Character, London, M/M, Murder Mystery, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suspense, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukitoSan/pseuds/YukitoSan
Summary: "How much does a vengeance cost?Eden Blackwood was just a little boy when he mysteriously had his parents killed. After the incident, he had to live next to his Aunt Beatrice, in a somewhat distant corner of London, his home town, but when he turned eighteen he was finally able to return and run his family's business. When he arrived at his home after three years, he went to his favourite place, the library, and there he found old journals which previously would not interest him, but he was determined to do something to remember his memories of that house. When he found a diary totally written in Latin and declared some of the words that were written there, he invoked a demon, who promised to serve him in exchange for his soul.In view of this, he realizes that the death of his parents may not have been something so eventual, and his journey to find out why and who had killed his parents three years ago begins again.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Blackwood Curse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970617





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

* * *

** [The fear is due only to those things that can cause some kind of harm; not the others]. **

_ North London, 1842. _

The snow was falling gently when my parents died.

I recall this day every night; I experience it as if I were still there on that occasion. It was midnight; the weather was frosty, and the snow lay all over London; it was already past ten o’clock at night and I was getting ready for bed since the day had been wild.

My mom seated beside me in bed and gave me a goodnight kiss, claiming that we would see each other in the dawn, oh, if I had known that this would be the last time that I would look her blue eyes glancing out for me, I would have uttered something further than just returned her with a modest good night. I pulled the blanket as far as I could since I had always been frightened of the dark, and I believed that it could shield me.

My eyes were closing when a shout caught my attention and caused me to shake thoroughly. It was my mother’s lament. I stood still for a few minutes, expecting that she might have been terrified of something she had glared at, but the calm had taken over my room and dwelling again, and then I got up. I sighed and picked up the candle often was in my bedside stand, and shortly had the determination to open gently the door, so I could aim sideways and have the faith that there would be no surprise at all.

Being born of a fairly rich caste, the dread of someone killing me to take the riches was something that my parents urged me from the starting point. So I went through the halls and saw nothing but gloom, so I finally went down the stairs, where I felt a dreadful prescience to be in charge of my body.

I was an infant; I understood nothing that was taking place; I did not understand for too long why it was them, and not me. What truly meant was when I got to the ground floor and started searching for them, finding them in the feasting area, already deceased.

My mother was lying on the floor, face down, next to the blood already dispersed through the gleaming wooden floor, and on the chair lay my father, head against the dinner table, and it was available to see a laceration in his throat. It was a sight that had never left my mind, even though I had spent a great time struggling to abolish it. I recall that thereafter that, one housemaid entered and took me out, calling the police almost forthwith.

I had to settle away from my home, and my Aunt Beatrice took care of me for a long time, inhibiting me to underlying knowledge about what they had about my parents’ crime. However, when I returned to my home three years after it happened, and saw that everything remained the same as it had been before I left - even the bloodstain they couldn’t get out of the dark wood - I concluded something:

_ I needed to find out who had murdered my parents, even if it cost me my existence. _


	2. Beginning of the Journey

Chapter One 

* * *

**[The more perfect is something, the more pain and pleasure we feel.]**

_North London, 1845._

Eden’s eyes were drained of the landscape that always looked the same through the window of the carriage. It seemed that it had been centuries since he had looked at those trees covered by the frosty snow that winter brought, and in one way or another three years had passed since he had taken this course for the last time.

He remembered as it was yesterday, after all, it was not simply to have to overlook the day of his parents’ death and how he had to leave immediately with his Aunt Beatrice, since the police had presumed that they might go after him too, as a form of vengeance, since he was the owner of a distinguished company, and to have opponents in this business was something quite recurrent lately. He took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of his home at last, in which he was a mixture of roses with a hint of the fragrance of the countryside.

His mansion was not so affected by the blackened smoke that radiated from the factories all day long; due to having too much money, it had not been onerous to find a locality where the fog did not reach. Although, as far as he knew, his family always lived in that unnecessarily large place, since even during a fine celebration, the place was not perfectly crowded.

— Finally. — He muttered as he got out of the carriage, feeling the breeze caressing his hair tenderly, as used to be his mother’s contact on his skin.

He took a glance at the house for a few moments, until he eventually passed over the vast iron gates, which could be roughly twice its width. He went through the backyard, which used to play with his parents on the days when the sun decided to come, and although they were few, they managed to stain his mind, to the point where he always recalled those days when he went to sleep. A deep sigh as he wandered through the fountain that was right in the heart of the front garden, remembering the time he ended up falling inside because he was trying to slip from his mother since he didn’t want to take a bath that day.

— Mr Blackwood. — The door opened by itself, revealing that Amelia was behind her; she appeared to be the same maid of three years, without even a wrinkle or a minor detail different.

She wore her customary long, dark robes, with a smock that covered part of her skirt, also the handkerchief that hid part of her great, black hair. She had a gentle face, with a snub nose and huge brown eyes, as well as a narrow chin. She was considered a wonderful woman for her time, although she never seemed concerned enough about this kind of thing. Amelia was also a remarkable friend of his mother’s, since both spent hours chatting about the most varied matters, and his father, on the other hand, always recommended that they should dismiss her since a servant should not have a familiar relationship with his master, although Eden always stood by his mother’s side.

— Amelia. — He smiled timidly, entering the house, and at the same moment feeling a chill running down his whole spine, as if he were recalling that dreadful day again.

He took a deep breath, struggling to soothe down, and subsequently warned Amelia that he would appreciate taking a look at the mansion before anything else, and after her inhibited consent, the boy ascended the stairs. Even though everything was quite the same as the day he left, it felt inside him that he had never resided there, as if his pleasant memories with his parents in that house had been only a reverie.

His eyes went straight to the door of his room, and with heavy steps he neared the place, feeling the coldness of the door handle as he touched two of his fingers on it. _“‘It’s all right, Eden...“,_ he uttered to himself before taking courage and opening the door of his room at once, getting an icy freshness stroking his face, as well as a foreign smell passing through his nostrils. 

His place remained the same, with its white walls, which may even appear slightly blue, with Victorian details in them. The black furniture, in which they diverged with the white bedspread, not to mention the paintings that were spread there, which his mother used to tell that it was she who painted some when she was newer. However, the boy always mistrusted. But now this no longer made any difference.

The memories of that day came back, and he could have vowed he saw his mother lying on his bed saying ‘good night’ to him. He contained his tears, leaning on the wall, as if he needed balance so as not to crumble right there, thus he pulled himself together, replacing sorrow with hatred. The wrath of not having saved them.

So all he had managed to do to avoid this feeling of remorse blended with fury was to catch the watch that was on the bedside stand and throw it at an oil painting that his mother always mentioned him had been painted by one of the initial “Blackwood”. After throwing and seeing that the painting had come to the ground, he simply sighed discouragedly, putting his hands on his head. 

He reached the dresser and stared for a while. His golden hair was acquired from his mother, as well as his effeminate looking face, being a bit soft, with a narrow nose and rosy lips, his honey-coloured eyes had come from his father, in which they pierced coldness to all who faced him directly. In a way, this is what he felt when he stared into his father’s eyes. 

— Sir! Is everything all right? — Amelia came promptly when she heard the crash of things breaking, and when she saw the clock is broken on the ground and the painting falling down as well, the woman gasped, approaching the boy, who walked away at the same instant.

— Clean this up. — He murmured, passing by her and leaving his room. 

He thought about going to his parents’ suite, but he knew that was not yet fully ready for it, so he just ran downstairs again and chose to pass to the library, where he also used to spend a lot of time in the past. There it was, the only place in the house that, at the occasion, gave him a feeling of calm, with the clean energy of any dangerous thought. 

He wandered around the place, tenderly passing his fingers through all the books that were there, having a marvellous sensation satisfying his body, calming him. He ceased moving as he felt a deliberate book with his fingers, his mother’s favourite, called “The Divine Comedy”, which made him just take it out of there, pulling it up with both hands, as if he could feel the touch of his mother’s hands again. He opened it, leafing randomly, reminding how she used to sit in the edges of the house, always learning something, although his father disapproved.

— “There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.“‘ — He murmured with himself the early sentence that looked as he leafed through the pages. — Indeed it is correct.— He spat, closing it and wishing to put it back in the place that had taken it out. But, at the same instant, a careless page falls from inside him. — What?

He picked up the paper that was on the ground and stared at it for a few moments, seeing that it was seven names of acquaintances of his family, the last one being Aunt Beatrice herself. Besides the names there was a kind of target drawn, as if an ‘x’ was pleading to be marked next to this line, so even though he wanted to preserve this page again, he just put it in his coat pocket. And while he was placing the book back on the shelf, something else caught his attention, it was a book he had never seen before in all his life. And he could claim that he knew practically every angle of that place.

— ’Mea commentarius’’... — He spoke with confusion the name that was on the cover, in which clearly it had been done with a pen. — What is this? — He was even more upset when he opened the book and saw that everything was in a dialect he had never seen before, except in the churches.

It was Latin. He couldn’t understand an individual phrase that was recorded there, but somehow the book practically held him so that he kept insisting on reading the sentences and risking understanding them.

— Invoco te Dominus obumbratio... — He began to speak out of pure disdain, speculating why his family had this kind of book guarded, since no one knew how to talk Latin, and, from what he knew, they had no concern. — Illud mihi tempus oriri... Libet manere ad extremum latus... Donec fiat anima tua. — When he had finished his speech and saw that nothing had arisen, as he had thought, he merely put the book back on the shelf at once, laughing alone and going towards the feasting room. 

Upon landing at the place, an unpleasant chill ran through his body, causing him to lose the stability of his legs, thus crumbling to the ground. He was on his knees, and even if he tried to get up, it was as if there was a pressure that restrained him from even moving a muscle since he tried to call Amelia, but when he opened his mouth, no noise came from it. 

He began to despair, and as he peered forward, he was apt to repair a spot of blood on the ground, presumably from his parents — some that Amelia surely thought Eden would not notice. As he found this, he shortly restored his body’s movements, stumbling back, however, at the same instant that his full body moved towards the ground, he found himself in a dim place, with nothing around him.

He stood up and faced to the sides, demanding to believe that this had no relation with the peculiar words he had just declared. He took a great breath and called out to his housemaid. However, all that said was his own echo, so he began to walk there, assuming that at some point he would have to come back to the feasting room. At every step he took, a lousy feeling was taking over his body, to the point of standing still at a certain moment, as if he was experiencing trouble breathing.

— Tell me what is going on! — He yelled into nothingness, and this time there was a response. 

A creature appeared in front of him. It was lanky, awful, with horns and glowing eyes, in fact, a view of hell, which made him sink to the ground by the impact and crawl as far away as conceivable. He made a cross with his fingers as fast as he could, feeling hot tears of going roll down his cheek. 

— There is no need to do this whole scene. — The creature spoke, with a deep and tempting voice, at the same time, gradually turning into a man. — Does this make thee more relaxed?

— Get out of my way, wicked creature! — He cried, seeing that there was nowhere else to crawl to, realizing that he was completely insane. — Get out! — He shouted louder, however, the creature who was now a man, simply giggled, approaching. 

The man was charming, with dark brown hair, in which came to be completely arranged, even though fuzzy, his eyes were brown, although they had a vivid reddish colour, his face was frowned, with an elongated and straight nose and a delicate mouth. He was naked, and as he approached Eden, the boy just glanced away and kept on shouting to get back. 

— Ah, what a disagreement of mine. — He stopped walking for a moment, snapping his fingers and making a modest dress appear on his body; a white T-shirt and black slacks, as well as his boots. — How could I appear in this way in front of my mentor? 

— Mentor...? — He was astonished. — What on earth are thou talking about?! 

— What an unholy mouth... — He grinned, crouching in front of the boy who only went further away. — Don’t play nasty, thou hast called me. — His honey-coloured eyes widened out at the same instant. — Oh, thou didst not know what thou wast doing? — Eden stood still. — I don’t think so. — He sighed, getting up and standing on his back. — My coming is arranged from the very beginning. I thought thou knewest this.

— Thou is lying!

— Hell, cease howling. It may damage thy throat. — The boy gasped, however, trying to calm down. — Good. I’ll be your protector from now on, that’s all thou needs to know. Thou hast called upon me, and in income for this shelter, I have thy soul as a guarantee. — When he reached out his hand to the front, a sparkling flame appeared, making Eden breathless at the same moment, arranging his hand on his neck and coughing heavily. — My goodness. — As his fingers snapped, the fire waned and the boy recovered.

— I don’t need any of that! Go away and leave me alone!

— Thou hast a really good throat. — He laughed, turning in front of the boy again, pulling a crushed piece of paper out of his trouser pocket, and giving it to the boy. — I think thou must recognise this. — It was the same paper as the seven names he had found before, but this time, on top of the names there was one more piece of information: “suspects”, which had made the boy widened his eyes and face the man in front of him. — Do thou trust me now?

— Suspects... — He was in another reality at that moment. — The slaughter of my parents...? — The man nodded, though he hadn’t seen it. — I have to go after them. — When the boy got up he took his hand, and at the same instant it began to burn, causing the youthful boy to cry and struggle to let go, but it was being in vain.

The tears that once rushed out of longing now flowed because of the pain he was going through. The man laughed until he eventually let go, exposing a pentagram that had been made from burns on the palm of his left hand. Eden faced him with distaste and pushed him, crossing by his side and trying to get out of the darkness without his help, claiming that he would do everything alone and not trust a devil. 

— It’s a shame only I can get thee out of here, don’t thou think? — He smirked, seeing that the boy had stopped wandering. — There is nothing I can do now, thy soul is already doomed to be mine. And that was prepared long ago. Just accept my protection. — Eden sighed, turning around. — I’ll do whatever thou wilt until the day of thy death.

— Then bring my parents back.

— I can’t. — He shrugged. — No demon can bring the deceased back to life.

— Sham demon. — He rolled his eyes. — Anyway, I won’t require your support. After all, what’s thy name?

— I don’t have one.

— From this day on, thy name will be Lucious. The fake demon. — He laughed, seeing a saucy grin on the man’s face. — Try to take me back home and put on proper clothes. 

— Yes, my lord.

In a matter of seconds he saw himself again in the feasting room of his house, and beside him was the creature with the clothes of a servant. He glanced sideways and saw that Amelia was approaching, and as if it were a whim he tried to push the man away since she might suspect that suddenly there was a strange person in the house, yet he did not even move. 

— Hello, Lucious. — Amelia smiled at the man, directing her gaze at Eden, who was astonished. — Is everything all right, sir? — The boy nodded, and finally, the woman walked away from them both. 

— What was that? 

— While we were there, I changed the memory of everyone in this house. — He spoke looking straight into her eyes, which surely made him uneasy. — They assume I’ve always been around. 

— I don’t truly care about that. — He sighed, picking up the page again and seeing the first name on the list. — As far as I’m concerned, our journey begins here, doesn’t it? Try to protect me then, even if I don’t have to, after all, I doubt if thou art powerful enough for that.

— Yes, my lord. — He smiled, making a bow to him, not caring about the things the boy had said. 

He was still trying to understand everything that had just occurred. His mother told him tales about demons as an infant. She claimed they were tempting beings, who ceaselessly sought a way to take profit of humans in any circumstance, never caring for others. And at that moment he wondered whether that creature in front of him could really protect him.

He did not know whether he was fantasizing, but by looking at the palm of his hand the mark remained there, so he surely justified that it was not a daydream.

— First on the list is Gerald Davies. A former partner of my father and partner in the company. — He faced the page in his hand. — If thou wilt does everything for me, try to find him and say that I will visit.

— Yes, my lord. 

_And so his vengeance had indeed risen._


End file.
